


The Eyes of the Storm

by EmiliaOagi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel True Forms (Supernatural), Eldritch Angels, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Tornado, storm watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:35:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26929771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmiliaOagi/pseuds/EmiliaOagi
Summary: A major storm brews above Lebanon, KS.Castiel takes advantage of a chance to stretch his wings.Meanwhile, Dean and Sam sit back to watch the storm, only to see strange, eldritch shapes in the clouds. So much for a day off.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	The Eyes of the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my draft folder for months now, figured I should actuallly post it!
> 
> Thanks to [Theshie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threshie) for spag check, song suggestion, and the [lovely art!](https://threshie.tumblr.com/post/620050505935323136/threshasketch-thinking-about-storms-and)

Castiel stares up at the sky, nostrils flaring, senses tingling. Clouds gather in the sky above, slowly forming, joining, building. There are more, further apart, larger than the ones he watches. Above this low layer, where only a plane flying above the clouds or one of the many satellites dotted around the earth can see, the growing storm reaches higher and higher. Castiel can’t quite see it, not with his vision so limited by his vessel, but he can feel it in his grace, his very essence thrumming.

It’s going to be a big one.

“Earth to Cas,” Dean says, startling Cas out of his reverie. Castiel glances at him, noting the bag of snacks acquired from the convenience store. “You okay there? Looked like you were, I dunno, trying to figure out the answer to the meaning of life or something.”

“There’s a storm coming,” Castiel replies. “And the meaning of life is subjective to the individual. It has no definitive answer except what we choose to give it.”

Dean blinks at that, then shakes his head. 

“If you say so.” He glances up at the sky. “We should try to make it back to the bunker before this hits. Radio in there said possible tornados and hail. I don’t want to risk Baby getting dented.”

Castiel nods. Above, water has already turned to ice, tiny droplets as yet suspended, but growing heavier as it condenses together. Dean is right to be worried.

“You should go, then,” he says, and looks back up at the sky. An idea has formed in his mind. “I’ll meet you there later.”

“Sorry, what?”

“There’s something I wa- something I need to do.”

Dean stares at him, and Castiel finally looks back, and gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Dean clearly doesn’t buy it, frowning.

“What’s going on, Cas?” There’s suspicion in his tone.

“It’s...an angel thing.”

Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head, but he doesn’t press.

“Fine. Keep your phone on you, though.”

“I will.”

Dean eyes him a moment longer, then gets in the car, tossing his bag in the now-empty passenger seat. A few moments later the Impala roars to life.

Castiel starts walking, heading west, towards the oncoming storm.

~~

It’s been raining for half an hour, and the rain only increases. Tapping his hands on the steering wheel, Dean sings along loudly with Led Zepplin as _Fool in the Rain_ plays, watching the road as best he can as the wipers go faster, just barely keeping up with the pounding rain.

Then a loud noise comes out of the speaker, cutting off the song mid-chorus and announcing: “TORNADO WARNING, SEEK SHELTER. Tornado warning is in effect for counties Smith, Phillips, Jewell, Osborne, Mitchell-”

“Shit,” Dean swears, accelerating before sense catches up with him. He’s only twenty minutes from the bunker, and it should be fine.

He wonders (and worries) briefly about Cas. He’d taken off on foot, and Dean has no idea what was with the angel’s odd behavior at the gas station. But it’s Cas, so Dean supposes he shouldn’t be too surprised by odd behavior at this point.

He reaches the hidden driveway for the bunker just as it starts to hail. Small stones, but Dean slows down anyway, creeping toward the tunnel, and breathing a sigh of relief when he’s inside.

The first thing he does once he’s parked is check Baby for damage, just in case, and he sees none. Then he heads upstairs, and finds Sam sitting in the library, hunched over his laptop, books spread around him.

“Hey Sam. How’s the research?”

“Going.“ Sam glances up, then frowns. “Where’s Cas?”

“He had some angel business to do, or something. Says he’ll be back later.”

Sam takes this in, then nods and looks back at his screen.

“There’s a big storm out there. Might be tornados,” Dean says, somewhat offhandedly. “Wanna go watch?”

Sam looks up to find Dean grinning slightly. He starts to grin back. 

~~

Castiel is drenched long before he stops walking. The storm moves fast and he regrets that he cannot move faster, cannot fly to join with it and let loose within the clouds.

Still, he finds a field, miles and miles from the nearest human, and he stops, looking up, pushing a damp lock of hair off his forehead. The storm rages, almost to its height here. Wind whips around, bending stalks of corn in a neighboring field, the grass below him bent near flat as it gusts. His trenchcoat whips around him.

Castiel closes his eyes and stretches his arms out to feel the storm, and to welcome it. He has always enjoyed storms, brute forces of nature, under no one’s control, impossible to tame. It speaks to something in his core, and his grace sings with the electricity within the clouds.

He opens his wings, battered though they are, to receive the storm. He pauses then, unsure, hesitating.

Then, because it has been too long, and this chance may not come again for a long long time, Castiel uncoils himself from the vessel formerly known as Jimmy Novak and stretches upward into the clouds. 

~~

Sam and Dean had lived in the bunker for nearly a year when Dean had found the staircase that went from the bunker itself to the old power plant building that perched above it. There hadn’t been much in it, and their best guess was that it had likely been abandoned before the Men of Letters moved in below it. Nothing in the records told them whether that was true or not.

Still, it was there, and after a couple years of it as a home base, becoming familiar with the area around the bunker, Dean had come up with a use for at least part of the building.

He and Sam climb up the long staircases and up to the top floor of the building. There, Dean has some old couches and tables, all things gathered at random from the side of the road, or people just wanting rid of them. It makes a motley collection, but comfortable, all arranged on a platform built to be level with the huge window that faces west, toward the open plains and fields of Smith County, Kansas.

The storm outside is already raging fiercely, the sky tinged with green. No tornadoes have touched down that they can see, but it’s still a spectacular view. 

Sam and Dean settle into separate recliners to watch. 

It had been one of those things they would do, whenever they hit this part of the country and Dad was off on a hunt. It had been some neighbor at one of the motels they’d lived in, one of the times they stayed long enough that John had bothered to get them enrolled in the local school. A not-quite-friend of Dean’s had invited him over, and Sam had come along, at the invite of the friend's younger brother, when the sirens had gone off.

Their friends had gotten excited, and led Sam and Dean out onto the roof of their house and stood around as the sky flashed green in the distance. It was only lightly raining where they were, but out on the horizon, they could see the storm rage, saw when a tornado touched down briefly and spun out for a few minutes before spiraling back up into the clouds.

It had been awe inspiring, and the next time they were in the plains states and a thunderstorm and tornadoes beckoned, they had rushed for a good vantage point.

Now they sit comfortable and safe and watch through the glass. It’s still raining here, but only the edge of the storm seems to have caught the bunker. The view is still good.

They sit in silence, and watch. Lightning flashes, and the clouds go green and yellow, then streaks of white light it up.

The silence is comfortable, and Dean finishes off a beer, setting the glass down beside him.

He fancies he can see shapes in the lightning, and as the rain slows and stops, maybe a hint of other colors in there. Lightning flashes again, outlining the shapes of the clouds.

“Looks a bit like wings,” Sam comments.

“It does, yeah.”

Thunder, then a few minutes later, another crash.

“Definitely looks like wings. And maybe a lion’s tail or something.”

“Looked more like a tentacle to me”

Sam snorts. 

“It would.”

“Shut up bitch.”

“Jerk.”

The silence stretches, this time when the lightning flashes and neither comments.

“Dean.”

“Yeah, Sam?”

“Storms don’t usually...glow like that.”

“Not usually”

“Or have wings and eyes and tails and tentacles in them.”

“Nope.”

“So you don’t think that’s natural.”

“Nope.”

“Fuck.” Sam has a thought then, that stops his _goddammit not another new monster_ thoughts in their tracks. “You said Cas had some angel business to take care of, right?”

“Yeah.” Dean catches on quick. “You think he went to deal with whatever...that, is?”

“I mean, it’s possible.”

“It would make sense. He was acting a little odd about the storm.”

“We should go help.”

Dean’s already out of his chair. 

“Absolutely. But we’re not taking Baby out into that.”

“Good call.”

~~

Castiel is joyful, all six wings outstretched. He lets the storm touch them, its winds brushing through the feathers of tertiary and secondary wings like a lover’s fingers, grazing the primary set with a gentler touch, as if in afterthought. 

Lightning wraps around his tentacles, plays tag with his lion’s tail and nips at the serpent one. Castiel laughs, his true voice joining in a melody with the thunder and playing back, generating light flashes of his own, multicolored lines that the lighting streaks upward to follow. 

Though Castiel is ecstatic, he is careful. Though no one should be around, accidents happen, so he keeps the bulk of his form wound within his vessel, a tether to bind him to the human body he calls his own. His wings are free, his tails, the tendrils of grace akin to tentacles, his fire, and that is enough. 

Divine light burns in the clouds above Kansas, hidden by the clouds. Should any satellites take pictures of this storm, they might notice odd shapes in the ultraviolet spectrum, but right now, Castiel doesn’t care.

_He’s free._

He looks out over the fields, and up into the sky. His vessel’s eyes are sharper than any humans, but those of his wings and body are sharper still, and he has an unrivaled view of the plains stretching out below him, of the storm around him, of the calm sky above the cumulonimbus cloud heads. Heaven has nothing to compare to this.

In the distance, along the very edge of the storm, he sees the outside of the bunker and smiles with a flash of light, his tentacles curling, feathers fluffing. He understands for a moment how it must feel for humans to see their homes from the sky. 

He floats, he swims, he flies. He sings out his joy, his voice hidden within thunder and rain, Enochian spoken as it was meant to be, musical instead of the guttural syllables that are all a human throat can handle.

All too soon, the storm begins to pass, heading further east to discover new territory before it fades and dwindles to nothing. 

With regret, Castiel follows the tether back into his vessel, coiling once again within the human body, until all but one set of wings is housed within. He blinks, opening his human eyes to the light rain.

Castiel takes a minute to readjust, settling into the familiar shape, then he starts walking, heading in the direction of the bunker.

~~

Sam and Dean drive in an old pickup they’d hotwired some months ago and kept for emergencies. Emergencies like this, when some sort of eldritch monster is threatening over the skies of Kansas.

Dean drives, heading as best he can on the roads towards the center of the storm and that giant figure. When he glances up, as lightning strikes, he can see some of it moving. There’s more tentacles there, and more eyes, along the wings. The shapes blend with the clouds well, but still, it’s strikingly clear.

“Anything?” he asks Sam.

Sam is busy on his phone and grunts in response. “There’s nothing. Images, and people commenting on the crazy shapes, but the images aren’t loading, which is making it very hard to search for whatever the fuck this is.”

“Keep searching,” Dean says, as if Sam would stop. He concentrates and drives.

The next time he looks up, the shapes are dwindling. He slows, to look up, and Sam looks up and follows his gaze.

“Is it...leaving? Or just...going somewhere else?” 

“I have no idea.”

Dean starts driving again, still headed for the center of the storm. He looks up frequently, hoping for a clue, but in only a few seconds, there’s nothing in the sky but shapeless clouds. No more weird lights or anything that might be a wing or an eye.

Dean hopes it’s just gone, but with their luck? He doubts it.

~~

Castiel feels better than he has in years, more comfortable under Jimmy’s skin now that he’s had a good stretch. He hadn’t realized he’d felt that tightly wound.

He hums a pop song as he walks down the highway that will, eventually, lead him to the bunker. It will be a few hours, and the rain following behind the storm will have gone past him by the time he reaches it, but he doesn’t mind.

The sound of a car reaches his ears, and he moves from the center of the highway to the side. Ahead of him, headlights come into view.

It’s a truck, and Castiel waits for it to pass, but it slows, then stops not too far ahead of him.

Castiel smiles when two familiar figures get out and walk towards him. He walks a little faster and meets them halfway.

“Sam, Dean. Hello.”

“Are you okay?” Sam asks, sounding worried.

“Of course.”

Castiel’s smile drops and he looks between the brothers. Something’s wrong. Both are tense, on guard.

“Did you get it?” Dean asks.

Castiel blinks. 

“Get what?”

“That thing,” Dean says, annoyance underlying the urgency. “The eldritch horror trying to sneak in, or whatever. That’s what you went off to deal with, right? The thing in the sky?”

Castiel stares at him, not understanding.

“We were watching the storm,” Sam explains. “We saw it. Wings, tentacles, way too many eyes-”

When Castiel gets it, he makes an involuntary noise that startles him as much as the brothers. He clamps a hand over his mouth to prevent yet another giggle from escaping. 

“It got to you-” Dean says, horrified, angel blade ready,

“Or that’s not really Cas,” Sam says, hushed, his own angel blade ready.

Castiel sobers quickly, and holds both hands up.

“It’s really me,” he assures. “And so was that- it was me.”

“Come again?” Dean says after a long moment of silence.

“What you saw in the storm. That was me.”

Both Sam and Dean stare at him.

“Nope, not getting it,” Dean says, but he’s put his blade down. Sam too has lowered his. “Dude if that was you, our eyes would be smoking craters right now.”

“It wasn’t all of me, and the storm helped hide some of my grace,” Castiel replies. Then, somewhat annoyed, “Though apparently less than I’d hoped.”

Sam stares, then shakes his head. 

“Jesus Cas, you could have warned us.”

“Yeah, instead of wandering off without a word,” Dean says, stowing his knife away. “Dude, you are _terrifying_.”

Castiel glares at Dean for that, though he’s well aware Dean is hardly the first human with that reaction.

“What did you expect my true form to look like?”

“Not like _that_.” Dean shrugs. “I don’t remember a single one of those books mentioning tentacles.”

“Yeah, in most of the lore it’s all wheels of fire, wings covered with eyes- _oh_.” Sam claps a hand to his head. “Jesus, I should have guessed when I saw those.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. Sometimes he wonders why he puts so much faith in these two. It’s not often he wonders that, but in moments like this...

“Okay,” Dean says a moment later. “So. No monster to hunt. Good. Let’s get out of this ”

He starts walking towards the truck. After a moment, Sam and Cas follow him.

~~

Once they’re on the road and headed back, Dean asks, “So, uh, why were you all...I dunno, naked or whatever you wanna call it up there?”

“I needed to stretch,” Cas says from the backseat. “And the storm was… Perfect.”

“You know there are going to be satellite images and people talking about this everywhere, right?” Sam says. He holds up his phone, screen open to a picture of storm clouds. “There’s already people with pictures of the storm and the shapes they saw. Someone’s going to put it together. That wasn’t exactly subtle.”

Cas sighs. 

“I’m aware.”

Dean snorts, “People forgot about the sun nearly going out a couple years ago, and no one even remembers half of the apocalypse crap that happened. Worse case, we get a few hunters that don’t know us poking around. We’ll tell them we dealt with it.”

“You have a point,” Sam concedes after a moment. “I am going to try and download any images of Cas that we get, though. Dean’s right, you’re kind of scary, and if that’s only part of you-” he shakes his head. “But seriously, knowing that was you? Just...”

“Awesome,” Dean says. “Terrifying, but awesome.”

He can see in the mirror that Cas is somewhat mollified by that. They drive in silence for a bit.

When they reach the driveway tunnel, Dean finally says what’s been on his mind for the last ten minutes.

“So…tentacles, huh?”


End file.
